Are We Having Fun Yet?
by thewickednix
Summary: After the war Harry Potter is out for vengeance, and who better to take it out on than a hospitalized Malfoy? But Harry has to learn that life is not always that simple, and good and bad are not always as we like them to be.


**Title:** Are We Having Fun Yet?  
**Author:** thewickednix  
**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Categories:** One-Shot, Slash  
**Warnings: **Hate!Sex, Adult Language, Character Death, Violence  
**Word Count: **3000  
**  
Summary:** After the war Harry Potter is out for vengeance, and who better to take it out on than a hospitalized Malfoy? But Harry has to learn that life is not always that simple, and good and bad are not always as we like for them to be.

_DISCLAIMER: __This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**Author's notes: **Just something I came up with. Whether or not it makes any sense is uncertain.

* * *

"Come to gloat, Potter?"

Has he? Perhaps. Harry stares down at Malfoy, strapped to the hospital bed, going in and out of consciousness. Leg smashed into a thousand shreds, head cracked open, chest covered with burns. The Dark Mark striking against his bluish pale skin.

"I've come to make sure that you won't die." he says coldly, stepping out of the way for a mediwizard hurrying past him. Malfoy's answer is delayed by his eyes rolling back in his head, and a monitor beside him starts making a high screeching noise.

"You won't die, you fucker." Harry watches the healers hurry to stabilize the blonds condition. Within five minutes Malfoy opens his eyes again.

"Potter? What the fuck are you doing here?" the blond mumbles in a broken voice. Without waiting for an answer, he slips back into unconsciousness.

Harry stares at the sleeping boy. What _is_ he doing here? Why isn't he at some victory party, accepting his Order of Merlin, first degree, for killing the most powerful dark wizard ever? Why isn't he celebrating the birth of a new, better world with those of his friends who have lived to see it?

Why isn't he happy?

"Mr. Malfoy's condition is at a critical point, the next days will determine if he lives or not. For the moment he is stable." a mediwizard informs Harry, who nods acknowledging. Good. The bastard must survive. For all whom have died, Malfoy must live. If only so that Harry may send him to Azkaban himself.

He thinks of Tonks, of Fred, of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He thinks of Seamus Finnigan, of Hannah Bones. He will avenge all of them by seeing to it that Malfoy gets the punishment he deserves. He will laugh in their names as he watches the doors to the outer world close on Malfoy forever.

He thinks of Dumbledore and Ron.

Malfoy stirs in his sleep. He moans softly, a frow from either pain or fear showing between his brows. Harry feels some of the pain in his gut be mildly relieved by the suffering of his nemesis. But this revenge won't be enough. Malfoy's debt is too great to be settled so easily. That is why Harry has made it his mission to see to it that Malfoy gets the punishment he deserves. Death is too good for the bastard. Too easy.

No, Harry Potter has not come to gloat. Yet.

* * *

Draco Malfoy is woken by someone screaming. It takes a minute for him to realise that it is him. He thrashes in his bed, his whole body burning. In his feeble attempt to reach out for his wand and do something to spell the pain away, he realises his hands are bound to the sides of the bed. From somewhere a healer hurries to his side, a sedative in hand. As the pain eases somewhat, Draco tries to look around his new found prison, but his vision starts blurring immediately. As sleep claims him anew, Draco sees only flames of brilliant green.

* * *

One morning Harry looks to the bed to see Malfoy, conscious with open eyes. The blond stares at him quietly for a minute, a sneer of disdain playing on his face.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy croaks, his voice weak and raspy and as malicious as ever. "Don't you have some victory ball to attend?"

Harry takes a more comfortable seat in his chair. "I have been assigned by the Ministry to keep you under surveillance until you are well enough to leave for your new _home_." His voice sickly sweet in malice, Harry expects to see Malfoy shudder from the mentioning of his sentence to Azkaban. The blond disappoints him by seeming completely unmoved.

"I was under the impression that you weren't on best terms with the Ministry." Malfoy sneers. "Or is that how you won the war? By selling yourself to the same people who sentenced your godfather to Azkaban and let your parents' murderer run free?"

Harry rushes up from his chair, but manages to control himself before the blind rage takes over. He reminds himself that if he kills Malfoy now, it would be too easy. But he cannot resist to spit back at the blond. "I did not sell myself to the Ministry." he grits between clenched teeth, sitting down in the chair again. "Speaking of paradoxes, Malfoy, wasn't it you who always went on about how purebloods were the only true wizards in the world? How come you ended up taking orders from a scaly half-blood?"

He waits in vain for the enraged response that never comes. Malfoy keeps looking at him coldly, his eyes as dead as before. "The Dark Lord served my family's interests."

Harry snorts noncomically, rising from his seat and poking Malfoy's bonds with the tip of his wand. "Does he serve your interests now?"

He exits the room quickly in search for caffeine.

* * *

"Are you afraid?" The hard words break the silence that has almost constantly surrounded them for a week.

"What?" Harry looks at the blond with a furrowed brow.

"Is that why you're here?" Malfoy cocks his head to the side and studies Harry carefully. "Are you here because now that the war is over, there are no bad guys left to prosecute? Have you taken on this inane task of being my baby sitter because you don't know what else to do with your life?" The blond leers viciously, leaning a bit closer and hissing:

"Is it possible that the great Harry Potter is afraid of what his own life will become without the war?"

"Stuff it, Malfoy." Harry hisses back through clenched teeth. "You don't know what you're talking about."

A malicious smile spreads on Malfoy's face. He lets out a pleased chuckle, laying back on his pillow and continues to stare at the ceiling.

* * *

"So, Potter, how is it going with the Weaslette?"

Harry sighs incredulously as he closes his book and looks over at the hospital bed. "Why do you insist on talking to me?"

Malfoy shrugs and keeps staring at the ceiling. "I'm bored out of my mind. The nurses are no fun. That leaves only you." He sighs deeply and flexes his hands as much as he can in his bonds. "I'd hate to spend the last whiles of life in complete ennui."

When the silence drags out and Malfoy has to cough to get his attention, Harry realises he has been staring at Malfoy's pale wrists for too long. His mind is drawn back to something Malfoy said. "You won't die, Malfoy. I'm here to make sure of that." Harry sneers at the blond, who only scoffs disbelievingly.

"We'll see about that, Potter."

* * *

Harry watches Malfoy. He has always been watching Malfoy. In school. On the Quiddich field. Even in the heat of the battle he was always searching for him. Trying to catch a glimse of platinum hair and pale gray eyes behind the mask.

A nurse comes in to wash Malfoy. He can't leave the bed to take a shower. Harry chuckles maliciously at the blond's horrified expression. What an embarrassment for the Malfoy heir to be so weak that he can't even wash up by himself. Harry's disappointment is obvious as Malfoy manages to ensure the nurse that he can perfectly well do it alone. The witch hands Malfoy a bowl of water and a sponge.

Harry is watching Malfoy.

He is watching him pull of his hospital gown and shudder when the cold air touches his bare skin. He is watching him wet the sponge and run it over his naked chest and arms, over his slim neck. He watches the pale hands work as they wet the sponge yet again and sqeeze the water out between long white fingers.

Then Harry sees Malfoy watch him watch Malfoy.

"I- uhm..." He begins, his mouth dry as cotton. "Excuse me." Harry mutters, eyes now glued to the floor. He rises from his chair and exits the room quickly. He buys three cups of coffee.

Never before has Harry purpousely prolonged his stay in the caffeteria when he should be watching Malfoy. Never before has Harry been embarrassed by watching Malfoy.

Harry never watches Malfoy bathe again.

* * *

"He is getting better, but yesterday he was coughing up some blood. It might just be because of the small wounds in his throat, but we have to keep him under surveillance as a precaution. We can't let him out just yet."

Harry looks at the healer incredulously. Then he looks at Malfoy. The boy seems fine. A tad pale, perhaps, but what else is new? His leg is mended, his burns are healed. A gauze is still wrapped around his head, but that is only a precaution.

Malfoy is fine.

"What are you playing at?" he asks the blond as the healer leaves. Malfoy only sneers back, ignoring the question. "You're perfectly fine. There is nothing wrong with you!"

"Why don't you go tell that to the nurse then?" Malfoy leers smugly. He steps out of bed, clad in only his hospital-green pajamas. Harry's heart skips a beat, and he turns around until Malfoy manages to pull on his thin bathrobe. Malfoy walkes over to the sink, just next to where Harry is standing.

"There is no point in stalling, Malfoy." Harry growls. "You'll end up in Azkaban sooner or later." But he is caught off as Malfoy leans over the sink and opens the tap. In spite of himself Harry watches as Malfoy washes his face, how the water glistens against his skin, drops running down his throat and over his chest. He startles out of his trance when Malfoy stands up and looks him in th eye.

"I will not go to Azkaban, Potter. You will never see me behind those bars." Malfoy drawls. And suddenly Harry can't take it anymore. He delivers a punch at the other boy, who has no time to react. The fist hits the blond, splitting his lip and sending him flying into the corner. Harry follows, grabbing Malfoy's collar and pushing him flat against the wall.

"Don't think you can escape this one, Malfoy!" he growls, his face inches from Malfoy's. "I _will_ lock you away, sooner or later!"

Malfoy stands paralysed against the wall, breathing heavily. Harry suddely becomes very aware of the blond's breath, ghosting against his, the bathrobe hanging loose and revealing a pale chest covered with scars. And those gunmetal eyes, striking with deviance. Before he knows what he is doing, he has pressed his lips against Malfoy's.

Malfoy gasps, the air getting caught in his throat. Harry ignores it when Malfoy fights to break free, the blond is still too weak to fight him off. Pulling the bathrobe down over Malfoy's shoulder, Harry moves his other hand to run his hand over Malfoy's chest, his nails scraping at the skin. Malfoy shudders under the touch and seems to forget to fight back. Harry lets go with the other hand too, sliding it down Malfoy's side, inside the top of his pants and down to his arse. The blond trembles and breaks the kiss with gasp.

"Potter, what-?"

"Shut up." Harry commands, bringing his lips down on Malfoy's again, more firmly this time. The kiss tastes of blood and hate, and Harry has never experienced anything more perfect. Malfoy hisses against his lips, but the erection digging into Harry's hip tells of little actual dismay. Harry is overcome with desire and furiously pines Malfoy against the wall. His hand covering Malfoy's arse forces their hips together. He breaks the kiss to bite down at Malfoy's shoulder, the blond growling and panting.

Afraid that a nurse will hear them, Harry clamps a hand down over Malfoy's mouth, his hips moving rhythmically against the other boy's. Malfoy bites down on the hand, still groaning as he moves against Harry. Finally he moans loudly, a furious hiss leaving his lips as he comes.

"Oh...Potter! God... Fuck...!"

Harry shudders at the words, biting harder into Malfoy's shoulder as he empties himself. He closes his eyes and leans against the body in front of him, breathing heavily. They stand panting for a minute, Malfoy's heart beating against his chest. And for the first time in a long time, Harry doesn't feel anything. No thoughts clog his brain, no resentment rests in his gut. He sighs deeply.

"Were you planning to get your hand off my arse anytime soon?"

Slowly some rational thoughts start to fill Harry's mind, and he soon realises where he is and whom he is with. With horrification he flinches, startling away from Malfoy.

"I.. I-" Harry begins, but is unable to form a single coherent sentence. Malfoy remains standing at the wall, looking at him, his eyes completely void of emotion. Unable to utter a single word, Harry flees out through the door, leaving Malfoy paralyzed by the wall.

* * *

That night, Draco Malfoy dreams of Potter. Of Potter yelling at him, hitting him, kissing him like he's never been kissed before. And it's exquisite, it is painfully wonderful until Potter pulls away, spitting at him.

_"You disgust me!"_

Draco wakes up screaming. When he manages to calm down, he realises someone else is screaming, too. A nurse is leaning over him, tugging at some wires, instructing him to keep still and not panic.

Draco doesn't understand. She doesn't understand. He isn't having a panic attack, he doesn't need to calm down…

He suddenly feels very faint.

* * *

Harry thinks he has never been as enraged as he is when he approaches Malfoy's room the next morning. How does that little bitch dare to make him feel this way, make him feel so embarrassed, so vulnerable, after all he's been to.

Malfoy is caught. Harry has the power, the overhand now. Why has nothing really changed? How does the git still manage to get under his skin?

Harry thinks he has never been this angry. Not even at Malfoy.

There seems to be some kind of ruckus outside Malfoy's room. Harry tries to walk past all the people, but he is interrupted by an elderly nurse he has never seen before.

"May I help you?" the slightly chubby woman asks, standing in the doorway so that Harry can't walk past her.

"Uhm, well… no." Harry mutters, not being able to care about being polite before his morning coffee. "I'm here everyday," he elaborates at the nurses dismayed look, despising how sentimental that sentence would be were it not for Malfoy being the object of his 'everyday'.

"Are you a relative of Mr Malfoy's?" the nurse asks, scanning a bunch of papers in her hand, Draco's medical record no doubt.

Harry sighs aggravated. "No, I'm from the ministry. I'm an Auror."

"Oh," is all she says, staring at Harry for a moment in surprise. Harry feels himself beginning to lose his temper.

"I didn't realise…" Looking over her shoulder, an apologetic expression emerges the nurse's face. "I would have contacted you immediately if I'd known, I'm sorry to waste your time, sir, but…"

"What is it?" Harry finally explodes, feeling the urge to just push past the nurse, common courtesy and rules be damned.

The nurse bites her lip, taking a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, sir. We lost him. Mr Malfoy passed away early this morning."

* * *

"God damn you, Malfoy!"

Harry doesn't know why he is crying. He has no idea why he is unable to step away from the bed, unable to look away from Malfoy. From that pale face, looking so fragile against he sterile white of the hospital sheets.

"I should've just locked you up in Azkaban," Harry sniffles, furiously aiming a kick at the leg of the bed. "You would've died anyway, now you just…"

He feels almost unable to say it. But then again, Harry can't not say it. Malfoy is the only person he has ever been able to be completely, ruthlessly frank with.

"You snitched me of my redemption, you fucking bastard!" Harry hisses between clenched teeth.

That if anything should provoke a reaction from the blond. But simply Mafoy lays on the bed, still as a stone, and doesn't say a word in his defence. No curses, no imprecations. Nothing.

And in this moment, Harry hates Malfoy more than ever.

_finis_


End file.
